Aftertaste
by xxbeyondxbirthdayxx
Summary: And the aftertaste is bitter, and yet so sickeningly sweet. Matt knows that this aftertaste will remain forever now. But forever is exactly one hundred forty six minutes long and he swallows back the tears.   - Alternate ending -


_**Note:** I'm back from the shithole of the country, and on top of being such a crappy place, there was no internet. My muse decided it was a good time to kick in, just when I couldn't write, just to make things worse and drive me crazy._  
><em>So this one is the first of probably many oneshots to come in the next days.<em>  
><em>It may not be original but still I had to write this.<em>  
><em>TSFMS will be updated in the meanwhile too, don't worry ^^<em>

* * *

><p>It seems weird to Matt, this situation. And yet, totally normal.<p>

They've always lived out of normality since they were... well, not born, he can't remember that far, but as far as he remembers anyway, in a foggy image of Winchester in autumn, the portal of the orphanage closing on him and the tall old man, a creaking rusty metal sound shutting his old life in his back, like a whining complaint, on souvenirs that are hard to swallow in the depths of forgetfulness, but harder to believe they belonged to the nine years old child he was back then. That blood freezing sound that can still make him shiver now, just at the thought of it.  
>Does Mello shiver when he remembers his arrival at Wammy's?<br>Of course not.

Actually, Matt's not so sure now, as Mello's breath, unsteady, fastening, makes the crook of his neck warm and wet, like if Mello can produce his own hot fog to bring back Matt's mind to the present, and what they're doing.  
>But Matt's totally into it, he's never been so much into it, no pun intended.<br>He inwardly chuckles at the stupid thought.

He contorts to meet Mello's lips, because he can.  
>There's no reprobative look or pushes or snapping words. Mello won't say a word, he just moans and pants and grips Matt's back like a lifeline, like Matt can't even begin to process, because Mello's not like that.<br>How's Mello actually, if not desperate and abandoned right now?

It's not right. It's not fair, because they both know the only reason they're engaged in this right now is because whatever the consequences are, they won't dwell on it too much. Even where they're going, a few hours from now, there's few chances they ever discuss the matter. You don't discuss anything in hell, you rot. Or at least that's what the popular belief says.

Matt's own popular belief has always been that Mello was in charge, and himself would follow. Mello would ask, and Matt would do. Period.  
>So it is weird now, because it was Matt who asked.<br>There was no shyness, no hesitation, once he turned to Mello and told him that he was a virgin, and didn't have time to pick up a prostitute so it was only fair that Mello gave him this single experience before they'd leave to put the plan in action. Three hours from now.

Mello kissed him all too roughly, only a single second lasting stare separating Matt's demand from its fulfilment.  
>And with Mello's skin against his, some places soft and unmarred, he can't stop touching them, because it's like finding some patches of white in that darkened and altered soul, like some feathers left on wings that long shed and stuck the angel beneath him to an earth he decided to save. Because that's what angels do? The angel he's making love to right now does, at least. And it's just not right. It's not fair.<p>

Because they should have been fucking like animals on heat, getting rid of sexual tension, spurting frustration and making the redhead's virginity a thing of the past. Mello's no virgin, Matt thinks. Hell, he even saw Mello fuck prostitutes on that crappy carpet back at the Mafia hideout, years ago.  
>He even wonders about the odds that made Mello bottom, at the exact moment he feels himself tense and Mello's muscles tighten in rhythm around him, and Mello exhales, still in Matt's arms.<p>

And the aftertaste is bitter, and yet so sickeningly sweet. Nothing to do with Mello's chocolate addiction. It's just that Matt's at the same time happy like he's never been, and so sad he feels like crying. He knows that this aftertaste will remain forever now. But forever is exactly one hundred forty six minutes long and he swallows back the tears.

_I love you._  
>Matt rises at elbows length because he can't believe his ears but he barely sees Mello's face before the blond embraces him and it's so tight that Matt can hardly breathe. The icebergs are just a puddle right now, the inhospitable islands melted like if what they've just done increased the global warming, and Mello's not Mello right now. Matt doesn't know exactly who's there. Knock knock?<p>

And there's the aftershock of it all, when Mello says it was just the heat of the action, because Matt couldn't let him get away with that. But this time Matt knows better. Because he's known Mello for ten years, and Mello's lips may have always been easy liars, but his blues never did anything than give him away. At least to Matt and his good knowledge of the man.

Fast they leave, after letting the minutes tick slowly, and Matt's heart is fluttering like a freshly fished carp, and it's painful because he can't breathe and he's mute.  
>He sits in his car, smoke gun ready in his lap, and Mello's riding his motorcycle, and he revs the engine to life, the sound echoing with Matt's Camaro. The visor is up, and there's a single look he sends to Matt before Mello's vision is tainted black and he rides away. His own gets all orangey as he watches Mello's back.<p>

The red beauty slides along the pavement, slowly, and this Takada woman is here, and Matt wishes she could just drop dead right now. Along with that blonde slut she uses as a bodyguard. That one that will let Takada with Mello a few seconds later, because it's the plan, because Mello's handing out his life to Near.

And Matt suddenly speeds up and drives away, the smoke gun landing on the passenger's seat. He sees Mello on his tracks, and he keeps on putting distance with the crowd. Mello's still in his rear view, and he only stops when they're out of town.  
>He barely has time to get out of the car that Mello's at him, gripping the front of his vest and his forehead suddenly crashing on Matt's shoulder.<p>

There's no 'why', no beating up, no insults. Only the aftertaste and a want of a real forever.  
>Matt failed the plan and Mello's not even angry. He's just once again the stranger from last night, and this time, when Matt knocks, there's no 'who's there' or creaking portal and not even a single blink of Mello's bare eyes when all's left of him is the last feather on his wings.<p>

And it's precious and he holds on to it because it only took a life of shedding for Matt to know the deepest of his core and be able to understand the last of his orders in three words.  
>After all, there could always be a 'I never said that' passing Mello's lips, the rivers running on the blond's cheeks right now can't deny their way to the ocean of Matt's shelter, the boy's more than meets the eye after all.<br>He may have been the closest of Mello's underlings to the Mob's eyes, little do they know he could _guess _his way through Mello's requests, from denying lips to pleading looks.

For once, the air wasn't charged with nicotine and substances alike, it was pure and everything Mello asked for.  
>The last feather flew as Matt blew it away. It wasn't strong enough to take an angel away, but it doesn't matter, because all Mello wanted was to stay here, human and <em>alive<em>.


End file.
